


Houndfish

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-08-15
Updated: 2000-08-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:16:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: While recovering from surgery, Mulder whiles away the time by reminiscing about his first vacation with Skinner.





	Houndfish

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Houndfish by m. butterfly

Houndfish (1/3)  
by m. butterfly  


Rating: NC-17 for m/m explicit sex, language  
Category: M/Sk  
Spoilers: Brand X, SR-819, Anasazi  
Archive: Sure! Just keep as is, please.  
Summary: While recovering from surgery, Mulder whiles away the time by reminiscing about his first vacation with Skinner.  
Author's Notes: The first M/Sk story I ever wrote ended on the eve of the guys' trip to Key West, Florida. I hadn't planned on writing about their vacation until I went to Key West for the first time a few months ago. While there, the episode Brand X aired. Then, a few days later, I saw a newspaper article that gave me an idea for a story that tied in with the ep. This is it. If you want to read my original story, Resuscitation, for background info, you'll find it at http://Skinner.Mulder.com  
Acknowledgments: Heartfelt thanks to Lucy Snowe for eagle-eye beta reading. All post-beta gaffs are mine and mine alone.  
Dedication: This is an embarrassingly belated birthday prezzie for my dear friend Danni. I included a particular scene just for you, darling. (I'm sure you'll recognize it immediately.) Enjoy!  
Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, et al are the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Which is a crying shame, because he never lets them have any fun. No copyright infringement is intended, and I'm not profiting financially by writing this stuff.

* * *

Houndfish  
by m. butterfly

Crystal City, VA  
Wednesday, April 19, 2000  
10:13 pm

Fox Mulder was one miserable son-of-a-bitch.  
His throat was still raw from the intubation, and it hurt like fucking hell to talk, never mind swallow. Or breathe heavily.

But that was nothing compared with the side effect of the eleventh-hour cure Scully'd found. The heavy doses of nicotine that had been used to kill the tobacco beetles in his bronchial system had given the former smoker the worst craving for cigarettes.

On his way to work that first day back, he'd actually stopped to buy a pack of Morleys. Jesus Christ! //Like father, like son,// he thought ruefully.

After Scully had told Skinner, the Assistant Director had cancelled the department meeting and all but ordered the little red-headed snitch to take Mulder to the nearest drugstore and get him on the Patch. Pronto.

But it wasn't working fast enough. Mulder still needed something to do with his hands or mouth--or both--before he went crazy. He couldn't eat his beloved sunflower seeds; each tiny morsel felt like a piece of broken glass going down. His team of doctors had suggested chewing gum, but the constant cacophony of snapping and bubble-bursting nearly drove anyone within hearing distance to drink.

Again, his white knight came to the rescue. Skinner kept him plenty busy at the office until he could take him home, pump pain killers into him, then basically suck and fuck him into such a stupor that he forgot all about ever wanting to smoke. Hell, Mulder could barely remember his name after Skinner got through with him.

But while Mulder's nicotine addiction subsided, his desire for Skinner--for *all* of Skinner--intensified. He hadn't had that lovely cock in his mouth for the longest time, and knowing that he couldn't have it until his ravaged throat healed completely made him want it that much more.

Biting back a sigh, he put down his newspaper and gazed wistfully at the big lug sleeping soundly beside him. Skinner's plan to distract him--to make him happy and keep him that way--was working, for the most part. But it was taking its toll on the older man. Mulder trailed the backs of his knuckles over Skinner's slightly stubbled cheek, so lightly that the slumbering giant didn't even stir.

"So beautiful," he rasped, wincing; the Tylenol 3s were starting to wear off. He leaned over, placed a gentle kiss at Skinner's temple, and was surprised to discover his lips quivering against the soft skin.

Between nicotine fits and nightmares involving being eaten alive by billions of beetles, Mulder hadn't exactly been a treat to live with. But, as always, Skinner had taken the agent's mercurial behaviour in stride, administering huge doses of unconditional love and affection. As soon as he was better, Mulder was going to express his undying gratitude by giving his better half the blow job of the fucking century.

Oh, great! All that thinking about Skinner's luscious dick was making him hard. Again.

//Down, boy,// he told himself. Morning would come soon enough.

He dragged his eyes away from his lover's serene face and went back to his paper. He was reading it cover to cover, hoping that, by the time he finished, he'd be tired enough to crash for the night. But he was only getting bored--not sleepy--until he came across an article in the National News section that made him sit up with a sharp jerk. He cringed, worried that he'd disturbed his bedmate. Relieved that Skinner hadn't so much as twitched, he returned to the Post and the story that had brought his ennui to an end.

Mulder shook his head slowly as he read about a recent freak accident in the Florida Keys. A teenager snorkelling off Big Pine Key had been stabbed in the neck by a large houndfish she must have spooked, since houndfish weren't naturally aggressive toward humans. The skittish creature's spear-like nose had broken off just below the girl's left ear, leaving two knife-like pieces embedded under the skin. One just missed slicing into her carotid artery and killing her. 

Sixteen months ago, Mulder and Skinner had been snorkelling near Key West, in those very waters.

An illustration of a houndfish was included in the article, and Mulder knew he'd seen one before. Several, in fact. 

Tossing the paper on the floor, he reached out and tenderly touched the flawless skin of the sleeping man's neck.

Key West. Their first vacation together. From the moment Skinner'd given him the plane tickets for Christmas, Mulder'd been certain the bad luck that had dogged him since childhood would follow on holiday. But, to his utter amazement, neither he nor Skinner had suffered as much as a mild sunburn. Nor did they stumble across anything paranormal, homicidal or conspiratorial. And--the biggest miracle--Skinner didn't dump him.

That had been a major concern for Mulder. He hadn't had a real vacation since he was a kid, and had never taken one with a lover. He honestly didn't know whether he'd be an enjoyable travelling companion or a colossal pain in the ass. The fact that he'd been living with Skinner for nearly a month prior to the trip provided the insecure agent with little solace.

But, after a slightly shaky start, everything had been okay. It had been downright incredible.

Miami International Airport  
Saturday, December 26, 1998  
10:32 am

"The black one?"

"Yup." Skinner set his bags down on the sun-bleached asphalt and opened the trunk of the sleek Sebring convertible. "Like it?"

"Hell, yes! But it's a bit extravagant, don't you think?"

"No, I don't." Skinner walked over and took his time relieving Mulder of his luggage, subtly caressing the younger man's fingers. "I told you, Fox: I can afford this. So stop worrying and hop in, okay? Unless you wanna drive..."

A broad grin spread across Mulder's boyish face. "Oh, man! Do I! Can I keep the top down?"

"Fine by me. Sure ain't gonna muss *my* hair."

Traffic from the airport was steady, and got heavier once they got to US 1. But they didn't mind; the slower pace gave them the opportunity to soak up the scenery along the Overseas Highway. They were relieved to discover that Key Largo and Islamorada were left mostly unscathed by Hurricane Georges, which had roared through the Keys a scant three months ago, flooding and ripping apart waterfront hotels, businesses and parks in the Middle and Lower keys and Key West. Despite the plethora of garish billboards, hamburger stands, shopping centres, motels, trailer courts, and a giant lobster sculpture that Mulder just had to stop and admire, the ocean--in all its clear, blue-green glory--made the drive along the ocean causeway undeniably spectacular.

They had lunch in Marathon, the commercial hub of the Middle Keys, finally witnessing the effects of Georges' wrath. Landscaping that was once lush with mature trees, sea oats and palms was now thin or non-existent. However, recovery from the devastation had been swift, as all but a few properties had reopened within a few days or weeks. And those that hadn't were taking the opportunity to renovate and upgrade. 

The Sebring pulled into Key West well before dusk, and they found their hotel easily. Located in the heart of historic Old Town, the Marquesa, circa 1884, was a compound of four coolly elegant buildings set around a lush interior garden and two swimming pools. If it had been affected by the hurricane, it didn't show now.

While Skinner checked them in, Mulder wandered around the Victorian parlour-like lobby, admiring the antique furniture, Audubon prints, and wonderful photos of early Key West. But there was nothing Victorian about the couple who had just walked in from the pool area. The two young men, relaxed in Marquesa robes, were obviously much more than friends. Skinner had mentioned that, despite having a mostly straight clientele, the hotel had a loyal gay following. Still, they were the only other same-sex couple Mulder had noticed so far.

The bellhop who showed them to their villa-like suite was polite, professional, and, when Skinner asked, more than happy to suggest a romantic restaurant on Duval Street--Old Town's main thoroughfare.

"What do you think, Fox? Italian okay?"

"Hmmm?" He'd wandered off to inspect the private porch, complete with lounge chairs and breakfast table.

"Dinner. Antonia's."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

Sighing inwardly, Skinner tipped the bellboy, then joined his obviously preoccupied lover at the French doors. "What's the matter? Don't you like it?"

The quiet words shook Mulder out of his uncharacteristic reticence. "What? Walter, just look at this place!" 

Skinner followed Mulder's arm as it swept from one end of the immaculate, airy room to the other. Among the eclectic antique and reproduction furnishings was a king-sized, four-poster bed.

Mulder wrapped himself around the older man. "Of course I like it! Who wouldn't? But I was expecting a simple bed and breakfast."

The embrace was heartily accepted. "Yeah, well, I wanted something special for our, you know, first vacation."

He kissed Skinner's shoulder through the thin cotton t-shirt. "You're too good to me. I don't des--"

Skinner clamped his hand over Mulder's mouth. "Don't you dare finish that sentence. You deserve the best, and that's what you're damned well going to get, so get used to it. Got it?"

Mulder answered by pressing his lips to Skinner's palm, which was quickly replaced by a hungry mouth.

"Well," Mulder panted when the long, deep kiss finally ended, "what do you wanna do now?"

"We could take a shower," Skinner drawled into soft brown hair. "Go to Mal--oooh." Mulder's fingers were doing wonderfully sinful things to his ass. "Mallory Square, watch the sunset, grab some dinner."

"That would be a long, hot shower, right?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mallory Square was only four blocks away from the Marquesa, so driving was out of the question. Freshly showered, sexually satisfied, and dressed in khakis and short-sleeved polo shirts--the Key West equivalent of tuxedos--they emerged from the hotel onto Fleming Street, which was lined with flora that even Mulder couldn't identify. He took a deep breath of warm, fragrant air and chuckled to himself. It had been well below freezing and on the verge of snowing when they'd left Washington that morning.

"It's going to be a beautiful night," he mused, peering up at the cloudless sky.

"Already is."

As Skinner reached for him, Mulder noticed a family with two boys coming up the sidewalk toward them. The suddenly ashen-faced agent shoved both hands deep into his pockets and started walking briskly. "Coming?" he asked without looking back.

Stunned by the blatant rejection, Skinner stood staring at the rapidly retreating figure for a few seconds. What the hell? Not knowing what else to do, he easily caught up, and they strode in awkward silence to Duval Street.

When they reached Mallory Square, it was typically swarming with vendors, artists, musicians, street performers and, of course, tourists waiting to watch the sun set over the Gulf of Mexico. Skinner sullenly followed Mulder's lead and inched over to where an escape artist was dangling upside down, struggling to free himself from chains and a straitjacket. But, while the AD looked on, he saw nothing except the continuous mental replay of Mulder backing away from his touch. Like it was tainted.

Mulder wasn't really watching the show, either. He was too busy scanning the crowd, observing the various couples, trying to find other families. There were an awful lot of men, he noticed. And very few children.

The sudden burst of applause brought their attention back to the performance...well, the end of it. They, too, threw a couple of bucks into the hat the budding Houdini was passing around as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon.

Skinner was startled to feel a hand on his forearm, the grip solid and sure. He stared at the connection between, then brought his eyes--filled with a mixture of pain and puzzlement--up to meet Mulder's.

To his credit, Mulder flinched slightly before offering an apologetic smile. He slid his hand down, past Skinner's sturdy wrist, and laced their fingers together. "Come on. Let me buy you dinner."

He nodded tightly. 

"You all right?"

Skinner nodded again and squeezed Mulder's hand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Would you mind telling me what happened back there?"

Mulder picked at the label of his Key West Lager. "You're gonna love this one."

"Try me," he encouraged. "I'd really like to know."

"Yeah, I guess you would." The younger man cleared his throat and met his lover's soulful gaze. "Before Samantha disappeared, we used to go to Cape Cod for a week every summer. Tonight took me back to the last time we were there. A memory I must've repressed until now."

"Go on."

"We were walking around Provincetown one afternoon--I think we were going for ice cream--and I saw these two guys holding hands. They were crossing Commercial Street in front of us, and when we all had to stop for traffic, they kissed. I mean really *kissed*. I'd never seen anything like it. I couldn't take my eyes off them. The next thing I know, my mother's grabbing me and Sam by the arm and telling us not to look at the 'bad men.'"

"Shit. What about your father?"

"He muttered something about 'goddamned faggots,' hustled us to the car, and high-tailed it back to safe, straight Hyannis like the devil was after us. The next morning--"

Skinner dared to brush the side of Mulder's hand with his fingers--fingers that Mulder grabbed onto like a lifeline.

"I was going on 12, and I guess you could say I was a precocious kid. I was just starting to get, uh, curious about sex, and I wanted to know why those two men were kissing and touching like married people. But I was too afraid and embarrassed to ask my parents, so I went to bed that night thinking about a lot of, um, things. And, as a consequence, I had my first wet dream."

"Shit."

Without letting go of Skinner, Mulder drained the rest of his beer. "Yeah. The hotel room had two beds. Mom and Sam slept in one, my dad and I in the other. At first he thought I'd pissed myself. But when he realized what had actually happened..." He closed his eyes, picturing the scene all too clearly in his mind. "He dragged me into the bathroom and stuck me under a freezing cold shower, pajamas and all."

"Oh, babe..."

"After God knows how long I was in there, he threw me over his knee and spanked me 'til I finally broke down and cried." Mulder's breathing was a little ragged, his eyes a little too bright. "And you wanna know the worst part? I mean, besides my mother not doing a goddamned thing to stop him, and hearing Sam bawling her head off for me in the other room?"

"What?" Skinner managed with a throat that was closing up.

"He never said a fucking word to me the whole time. Not one word. When he was finished, he just told me to shut up and get dressed. Then he checked us out of the hotel, drove us back home, and never talked about it again. Then, Sam disappeared a few months later, and I had more important things to obsess over."

"I'm so sorry, Fox. No wonder you froze when you saw that family tonight. I shouldn't have tried to hold your--"

"No, Walter. I'm the one who's sorry. You did nothing wrong. That's why you brought me here, right? So we could be affectionate with each other in public. People who bring their kids to a place like Key West or Provincetown should know what they're in for. And if they can't take it, well, fuck 'em."

With impeccable timing, the waiter appeared out of nowhere to take their order.

"Could you give us a few more minutes?" Mulder asked, tightening his grip on the hand he was holding.

"Sure. Take your time."

"Thanks, babe," Skinner said once they were alone again.

"For what?"

The older man indicated their joined hands. "For not letting go."

Mulder kissed Skinner's knuckles. "That's something I intend never to do."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Marquesa Hotel  
9:48 pm

They got back to their suite to find the bed turned down, fresh towels in the bathroom, and a Godiva chocolate on each pillow. 

Not that they noticed.

The second the door shut behind them, they were all over each other, stumbling in the dim light toward the bed. They were raring to go, despite the mutual hand jobs in the shower before dinner.

"Slow down," Skinner cautioned as he was tackled onto the mattress by a 170-pound kissing, groping, clothing removal machine. "We've got all night."

"Sorry," Mulder panted, expertly divesting Skinner of his shirt. "So sorry. Let me make things right..."

Oh, god. Not again.

The last time Mulder'd felt he'd hurt Skinner, the guilt-ridden idiot had given the older man a full-body tongue bath, then sucked him dry while jerking himself off so Skinner couldn't reciprocate.

Well, he was damned if he was going to let it happen tonight.

By now he was nude, with Mulder dishevelled but still dressed and nuzzling his way down to Skinner's groin. In a rare display of his superior strength, Skinner hauled Mulder up by the armpits until they were face-to-face, then rolled them both over.

"Hey! What'd you do that for?"

He pinned the squirming man to the bed with one hand, and used the other to strip him. "I want to feel your sexy naked body."

"But--"

"Shhh." He straddled Mulder, finally clothing-free, and used both hands to stroke his face, his jaw, his hair. Soothed him. Calmed him. "Do you trust me?"

It was a whisper. "Yes."

"Then spread your arms and close your eyes. And don't move."

"Walter?"

Skinner's heart lurched as he saw the face of a scared, abused child staring up at him. "Don't worry, Fox. I'll be right back. Okay?"

When Mulder nodded, Skinner slipped off the bed and into the marble bathroom. He was back, straddling his lover's body again, in less than 30 seconds, pleased to see that Mulder had obeyed him. "Miss me?" he teased gently, picking up Mulder's right hand and placing his lips against the pulse point of his wrist.

"Uh-huh. Can I look now?"

"Not yet. Soon." Skinner put Mulder's hand back down on the bed and wrapped one end of a hotel bathrobe belt around it.

Mulder's eyes flew open. "Walter?"

"Shhh." He brushed the hair off Mulder's warm forehead. "I wanna try something, okay? I won't hurt you. I promise. But if you don't like it, we'll stop. All right?"

Of course, Mulder wanted to be hurt...something Skinner wasn't supposed to know.

"All--all right." He watched, weirdly fascinated, as his boss, friend and lover tied the other end of the soft terrycloth belt to the right bedpost. The ritual was then performed on the left hand with a second belt.

"Why?" Mulder asked, testing the loose bonds.

Skinner cupped Mulder's face in his huge hands, traced the prominent cheekbones with his thumbs. "I want to take my time loving you. Every gorgeous inch of you. I want you to just lie there and enjoy it and think of nothing but your own pleasure."

"But I want to touch you! I *need* to."

He bent down and bussed the tip of Mulder's nose. "Tomorrow. You can touch me all you want tomorrow. Tonight it's my turn." He cut off Mulder's feeble protests with a kiss. "Okay?"

He blinked his acquiescence.

"Good." He was diving in for another kiss when something red and shiny among the crisp white linens caught his eye. Leaving Mulder in mid-pucker, he scooped the foil-wrapped, milk-chocolate heart from the pillow to his left and began to unwrap it.

Mulder snorted in disbelief. "You're not still hungry!"

"Oh, starving." He balled the red foil, tossed it over the side of the bed, and put the confection in his mouth. "Mmmmm."

"You could've shared, you know."

Skinner simply sucked on the chocolate, then lowered his mouth to Mulder's. The full lips opened and accepted the slightly gooey lump that was gently pushed past them. Skinner's tongue followed, chasing the prize until it was nothing but a sweet memory.

The wet, deep kiss eventually slid off Mulder's mouth, onto his chin, and down his throat to one anxious nipple, then the other. Skinner took his fill, then travelled the length of Mulder's arching torso. Teasingly skirting the straining erection, his tongue traced a path along Mulder's lower abs to his right hip bone.

"Ooooh," Mulder sighed. "That feels so good."

With tenderness that belied his size and reputation, Skinner nudged his willing captive onto his side and ran his hands all over the pale, smooth butt cheek. He tamped down images of angry palm prints on that perfect flesh and started kissing it reverently, as though he could heal ancient hurts. He was about to roll Mulder over to do the other side when he discovered the second chocolate heart, displaced from its pillow.

"Walter. Hey! What the hell are you doing down there?" 

"Thinking."

"'Thinking?'"

"More like 'plotting.'"

"Sounds like 'unwrapping' to me. Is that another chocolate?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, save it for later, okay?"

Skinner licked both sides of the confection--"Anything you say, Fox."--and smiled at the sharp intake of breath he heard when he parted Mulder's buttocks and wedged the chocolate between them.

"Walter! You didn't!"

The older man was busy arranging a clean-up towel under Mulder. "Oh, but I did."

But what Mulder expected to happen next didn't. Instead, he was brought back to his original position.

"How are you arms doing?" Skinner asked as he stretched out beside Mulder, feet toward Mulder's head. "And your wrists?"

"Fine. All fine." The improvised restraints were quite slack. "But what about the edible butt plug? You're not going to just leave it there, are you?"

Skinner smiled enigmatically. "For now. There's something else I'm gonna eat first."

It was an exquisite blow job; it took all of Mulder's concentration not to come when Skinner started sucking with a vengeance.

"No, Walter! Stop! I wanna come with you inside me."

Skinner let the thick cock slide out of his mouth, then repositioned himself face-down between Mulder's legs. "Are your balls too sensitive for me to suck for a while?"

Mulder shivered. God, he was lucky. "No, but just don't go too crazy."

The craziness happened several minutes later, when Skinner pushed Mulder's knees up to his shoulders and spread them wide to reveal a runny chocolate stream. Hands on Mulder's shins, Skinner lapped his way from his perineum to the rich, creamy source.

"Greedy bastard," Mulder chuckled weakly in accompaniment with Skinner's little pleasure noises.

But he was proven wrong when his imaginative lover quit feasting long enough to come up and share the sugary bounty with a messy kiss. He thoroughly devoured Skinner's mouth before sending him back down for more.

Skinner certainly didn't need liquefied chocolate as an incentive to rim Mulder. But he had to admit it made things pretty goddamned interesting. Licking it off skin with long, broad strokes was relatively easy. Hair, however, was another story, and he was grateful that Mulder wasn't hirsute. Skinner nibbled the area around the root, then drew each coarse strand into his mouth, using teeth and tongue to comb it clean.

"Jesus Christ!" Mulder shrieked. "This must be the *true* meaning of 'death by chocolate.'"

Skinner looked up from the dessert that was Mulder's ass and offered a shark-like grin. "And here you thought I was just a vanilla guy all this time." 

"There's nothing wrong with vanil--GOD!" Skinner wasn't playing rimming games anymore; this was serious, hard-core penetration, and Mulder struggled against his bonds with each thrust and scrape of tongue. If Skinner so much as petted his cock at this point, the game would be over.

But Skinner was becoming adroit at reading Mulder in bed. He grabbed the lube from the nightstand and used his fingers to finish opening him up, then hoisted the long legs over his shoulders and glided on home.

"Untie me, Walter. Please." Mulder was frustrated he couldn't touch the beloved face shining down at him, or reach around to caress the clenching ass. The best he could manage was to raise his head and lick at Skinner's magnificent chest on every downstroke.

A possessive fist was wrapped around Mulder's erection. "Okay, but keep your hands off this baby. It's mine."

"Yes, Master." As soon as he was free, he pulled Skinner's head down to his mouth, then ran his hands over as much of the big, sweaty body as he could. 

It was a luxurious, noisy seduction. Skinner kept himself propped up on tired arms long after they finally came, licking the cum off his fingers until he'd softened enough to slip out of Mulder without hurting him. He then straightened Mulder's legs, rubbed his knees and thighs, and slurped up every drop of semen from Mulder's cock and belly. Positive he was being watched, he looked up, and the wicked grin faded as soon as he saw Mulder's wet but calm face.

"Hey, beautiful." He crawled back up the bed and kissed Mulder's salty cheeks. "These'd better be happy 'I-just-got-laid' tears."

Mulder gave him a shaky smile. "You really love me, don't you?"

He wasn't expecting to hear *that*. "Just figuring it out now?"

"No." Mulder flushed under the intense gaze. "Of course not."

"Good. I was starting to worry about my communication skills." He sat up, pulling Mulder along with him. "Come on. Let's wash up."

As if on cue, Mulder yawned. "Good idea. But first..." He padded over to the mini-bar, pulled out a bottle of water, and showed it to Skinner. "May I?"

"Anything you want, babe. You don't have to ask."

To Skinner's relief, Mulder fell asleep easily in his arms. But it took him a while to drift off himself. He couldn't stop thinking about what Mulder had told him at Antonia's, and how unfair it was that Bill Mulder had been murdered. He would've killed the sick bastard himself if he'd still been alive.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sunday, December 27  
11: 26 am  
They could've ordered room service, or had breakfast served to them in the pool and courtyard area, but opted to eat out instead. Skinner's travel agent had highly recommended the "to-die-for" Sunday brunch at a place called Blue Heaven.

It was a 20-minute wait for a table in the big leafy yard of the clapboard house restaurant, but it was a most pleasant wait, spent sipping excellent coffee at the bar. Once they were seated, Mulder poured over the menu--not so much for its fare, but its colourful history. To his great amusement, Blue Heaven was once a bordello where Hemingway refereed boxing matches and customers watched cockfights. Indeed, roosters and chickens--the owners' pets, their waitress told them--still occupied the grounds, and Mulder later made a joke about cocks and Key West that earned him a playful swat from Skinner. 

They saw more tamed fowl as they walked to their next destination: the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum on Whitehead Street. Mulder had thought he knew a lot about the famous writer's life until he met the woman who took them on a guided tour of the house and gardens. She was able to answer every question that was thrown at her, including those from the most enthusiastic member of her small group. Skinner could almost see Mulder's amazing brain in action, storing away each piece of information for future reference. It made him love Mulder even more, if that was possible.

At the conclusion of the tour, the lovers continued to stroll around the property, observing the antics of the direct descendants of Hemingway's nearly 50 cats. They were especially captivated by the famed six-toed felines that lounged in the shade, preening their enormous feet.

"How're you doing, champ?" Skinner ruffled Mulder's hair. "Thirsty?"

"I could go for a beer. Capt. Tony's or Sloppy Joe's?"

"How about the original?"

"Good choice. It's closer."

Capt. Tony's Saloon, on Greene Street, was the site of Hemingway's favourite speakeasy, owned by close friend "Sloppy Joe" Russell from 1933-37. Russell then relocated his bar to Duval Street, where it thrived with tourists and locals alike.

"Did you know that Jimmy Buffet got his start here?" Mulder asked as they clinked glasses at Capt. Tony's.

"No, I didn't. But, speaking of Jimmy Buffet, there's one of his Margaritaville cafes on Duval. Maybe we could eat there some time."

"How about tonight?"

Skinner patted Mulder's thigh under the table. "Sure, babe. Whatever you want."

"Thanks, Walter. Um, I was wondering if we could have an early dinner, and then, uh..."

"What?" He squeezed Mulder's bare knee.

"Well, um, I was reading this brochure in the lobby, and there's this ghost tour..."

"Fox, I told you: anything you want. If you want to go on a ghost tour, we'll go. I didn't realize that Key West was haunted."

"Oh, yeah. There are all sorts of fantastic legends about the dead who won't stay buried. That's what they call this place the 'Island of Bones.'"

Skinner inclined his head toward the male couple getting cozy in the back corner of the decidedly non-gay bar. "More like the 'Island of Boners.'"

Mulder nearly choked on his beer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At sunset, their stomachs filled with burgers a la Buffet and margaritas, they met the Ghost Tours of Key West guide in front of the nearby Hotel La Concha. They and 11 others were led by lantern light through the shadowy streets and lonely lanes of Old Town. The leisurely mile-long walk included an all-too brief visit to the island's historic cemetery, where they saw the box tomb of Sloppy Joe Russell, who died while fishing off Cuba with Hemingway in 1941. But their favourite was the final resting place of a local hypochondriac, whose large white crypt was inscribed, "I Told You I was Sick."

"Thanks for indulging me, Walter," Mulder told him at the 90-minute tour's end.

"It's not like I didn't have a great time too. Hey! You know what we haven't had yet?"

Mulder put his arm around Skinner's trim waist. "What?"

"Key Lime pie. We didn't have time for dessert and coffee earlier."

"Hell of an appetite you've got lately."

"You have no idea," he leered, drawing Mulder closer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"It's not that late," Skinner noted as they left the restaurant. "What would you like to do now?"

"Go back to the hotel, if that's okay with you. I'm pretty tired."

"Not too tired, I hope."

Mulder smiled. "No, Walter. There are some things I'm never too tired for."

They were about to turn down Fleming when a shop window filled with tacky souvenirs stopped Mulder in his tracks. "Look! Here's the perfect t-shirt for you."

It read, "I'M SHY" in huge letters, with "but I've got a big dick" in smaller type below.

Laughing, Skinner pulled Mulder into a headlock. "Fuck you, pal."

"If you've got the time, I've got the lube."

"Oh, I've got the time, all right."

They practically ran back to the Marquesa.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Monday, December 28  
9:42 am

Driving out of Old Town, they soon found an elementary school, its parking lot and playground empty because of the Christmas break. Skinner deemed it the perfect place to teach Mulder how to inline skate.

"Do I have to wear all this dorky safety shit?" Mulder whined as Skinner helped him lace up his new skates--another gift from the AD. "Next to you, I'm gonna look like a six-year-old."

At his instructor's insistence, Mulder was wearing his bike helmet, knee and elbow pads, and wrist guards.

Skinner didn't look up from his task. "You're way too tall for a six-year-old. And too horny."

"What about too smart?"

"Not smart enough. The average six-year-old knows enough not to argue with his elders," he snickered, earning a friendly smack to the head.

"Don't worry about what you look like," he continued. "There's no one here to see you, and even if there was, who gives a fuck? And stop comparing yourself with me. I've been doing this for a few years now. Once you're as good as I am, you can just wear knee and wrist protection too."

Indeed, the older man's elbows were bare, and the only thing that his Washington Redskins baseball cap would protect his head from was the sun.

"I can ice skate, Walter," Mulder pouted. "I was born and raised in Massachusetts, you know."

"Yeah, but when was the last time you went skating?"

He thought about it and sighed. "It's been years. I'm probably a bit rusty, but it'll come back to me."

"I'm sure it will." Skinner stood and hauled Mulder up from the seat of the open car. "But, until it does, you get to dress up as Bullet Man."

He braved taking one hand off the convertible to snatch Skinner's hat. "Look who's talking. And you don't even need to dress up."

Skinner grabbed the baseball cap back and effortlessly skated away. "Just for that, the first thing I'm gonna teach you is how to fall."

Actually, that was the game plan all along, but he wasn't about to let Mulder know that.

"Come on, Bambi," Skinner called from across the parking lot, near the edge of the playing field. "Come to mother."

"Motherfucker, you mean," Mulder muttered under his breath as he lurched his way across the asphalt. His mood improved when he reached Skinner and was rewarded with a big bear hug, but turned foul again when he poked at the parched earth with his toe.

"Jesus, Walter! This grass is as hard as the pavement. I'm gonna kill myself if I fall on this."

"You'll be fine. And I promise to kiss all your boo-boos better."

"I'll try to land on my ass, then."

After Mulder passed Falling 101, he learned how to stop--without crashing. Skinner was a superb teacher, and Mulder not a bad student. Despite being on the receiving end of a good deal of teasing, he soon found himself enjoying the experience. The best part was holding onto Skinner, at first for dear life, then just for the fun of it.

Within a couple of hours, they were zooming around the parking lot, hand in hand, like they'd both been doing it for years.

"You're a natural, Fox. A gifted athlete."

"You're talking about my skating, right?"

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Mulder nudged his lover with his hip and let go of his hand. "Race you to the car!"

He came in second, but the kiss Skinner gave him when he got there made him feel like he'd won.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

They dropped the Sebring off at the hotel just after noon, then headed out on foot for Kelly's Caribbean Bar, Grill and Brewery on Whitehead Street. The open-air eatery, owned by "Top Gun" star Kelly McGillis, was the original home of Pan American Airways, and featured a collection of museum-quality PanAm memorabilia.

After lunch, they headed back to the Marquesa and spent the afternoon around the quieter of the two pools. New Year's Eve was just three days away, and they'd noticed the hotel--and the town--filling up, mostly with men. Skinner was thankful he'd already booked a table at the hotel's four-star restaurant, the Cafe Marquesa, for dinner Thursday.

"Walter?"

"Hmmm? Need more lotion?"

"Uhn-uhn. I know we have to get up early tomorrow, but I was just wondering if we could go, um, dancing tonight. For just a little while."

Skinner put down his iced tea. "You read my mind, babe. Any idea where we should go?"

"No, but I know how we can find out."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Flaming Maggie's was a gay and lesbian bookstore just down the street from the Marquesa, and that's where they wound up after dinner. They browsed for a while, then sat at the store's popular coffee bar leafing through "Celebrate," Key West's gay and lesbian newspaper.

"This one looks good," Mulder said, pointing to an ad.

"'Nude male strippers nightly?' Thanks a lot."

"What?" Mulder re-read the copy. "Shit! I didn't see that part. Sorry, Walter."

"Um, excuse me?"

They both looked up at the middle-aged, pony-tailed clerk who'd served them.

"Need some help?"

Skinner was the brave one. "We're looking for somewhere to go dancing tonight."

The clerk ran an appraising eye over the couple. "The best place for you two would be the Copa, on Duval."

"Great."

"But it's only open Wednesday through Sunday."

"Oh."

"Most of the clubs are closed Monday," the clerk continued, "but if you've got your little hearts set on dancing tonight, you could try Numbers."

"That's the place with the strippers, isn't it?" Skinner asked with a frown.

"It's one of them," supplied the clerk. "And that's no good because--?"

Mulder felt the telling heat spreading across his face. "We're, uh, kinda new at--I mean, it's our first--and we've never--"

"Oh, I see. Newlyweds." He smiled when the big guy also started blushing. "Look, it's not like the strippers do their thing out on the dancefloor. Besides, the last time I was there, none of them were half as good-looking as the two of you."

"But a lot younger, I'll bet," Skinner grumbled.

Now Mulder was truly uncomfortable. He started gathering up his reading material. "Uh, thanks. For all your help, I mean."

"My pleasure. Oh--if you boys wanna go dancing on New Year's Eve, try the Copa. I heard they've still got tickets left, so I'd call Wednesday and see. Better yet, stop in and check the place out for yourselves."

"Thanks," Mulder repeated.

"And have fun at Numbers!" the clerk called after them as they left the bookstore, seriously wondering whether they'd ever make it or not.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

But Mulder and Skinner had been dying to go dancing since they'd become lovers, and a few gorgeous studs peeling off their clothing wasn't going to stop them. Or distract them.

They showed up at Numbers just before 10, and the place was hopping with men of all ages and races. The bar area, where the strippers were "doing their thing," was packed, and the dancefloor wasn't much better. With Mulder basically glued to his side, Skinner got them a beer, then steered them to a couple of stools along the back wall.

"It's noisy in here, isn't it?" Mulder shouted.

"What?"

He raised his voice and tried again, annunciating carefully in the hopes that Skinner might be able to read his lips in the light-challenged disco. "Noisy."

"Yeah," Skinner nodded.

Talking wasn't an option, so they sat back, drank their beers, and looked around the room, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness. As they watched the strippers, the dancers, the cruisers, the couples, both men needlessly worried that the other would do some comparison shopping while he was here. Maybe find something a little more attractive. A little younger. A little better.

Then their anxious eyes met, and they started to laugh. Without a word, Skinner put down his empty bottle, stood, and held out his hand. They squeezed onto the dancefloor and began to move to the throbbing beat of a song neither recognized. But they didn't care. They were enjoying their new-found freedom. Because the club was so crowded, they had to dance close together. Really close. And it was so hot that they, too, took off their t-shirts and stuffed them into the back of their jeans, where they hung like colourful tails. Staring at Skinner's impressive sweat-covered chest, Mulder knew that no other man would ever have such an effect on him. And, when he looked into the lust- and love-filled brown eyes, it was pretty fucking obvious that Skinner felt the same way about him.

They'd been dancing for about 20 minutes when it was announced that the strippers would be taking a break. The expected groans and catcalls drowned out what the DJ said next, but Mulder broke into a wide grin when he finally heard the song that was playing. It was "It's a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong--a slow dance, at long last--so he draped his arms around Skinner's neck and snugged right up against him, slick bare skin to slick bare skin.

"Ooooh, I *like* this," Skinner murmured into Mulder's ear before licking it.

"Me too." This time, Mulder could hear perfectly. Seconds later, he also heard Skinner gasp when he pushed his groin into the older man's, grinding away shamelessly. Mulder smiled as a pair of big hands grabbed his ass to pull him in tighter, as Skinner found his mouth and latched onto it.

They were breathing like racehorses by the time the slow dance ended. Still clinging to each other, they inched their way back to the far wall, where Skinner dried Mulder's face and upper body with his own t-shirt, and then let Mulder do the same for him. They shrugged back into the damp clothing, then quickly downed a bottle of spring water before leaving the club.

The night air felt cold--almost too cold--against their heated skin, but nothing could cool their desire for one another. Mulder was afraid he wouldn't be able to make it back to the hotel, and scouted out possibly trysting places along the way. But nothing looked suitable. Besides, he knew it would take a helluva lot more than one beer to make Walter Skinner crazy enough to have sex in an alleyway. Just thinking about doing the nasty in public was nearly enough to set Mulder off, and he could've wept for joy when the Marquesa came into view.

They wound up making love on the carpet by the front door of their room--the fastest simultaneous blow jobs in history, Skinner reckoned.

He was already looking forward to going dancing again.

Tuesday, December 29  
8:08 am

The next morning, the smug, well-rested twosome ate breakfast aboard a catamaran that was taking them and dozens of other nature lovers out to Dry Tortugas National Park, about 70 miles west of Key West.

The park, a sanctuary for thousands of birds, consists of seven small islands, but its claim to fame is the long-deactivated Fort Jefferson, where Dr. Samuel Mudd was imprisoned for his alleged role in the Lincoln assassination.

Arriving at the park after a two-hour journey, the tourists were met by a naturalist and led on a 45-minute guided tour of the park. The islands, they learned, were discovered in 1853 by Spanish explorers who called them Las Tortugas, meaning "the Turtles," for the great number of turtles they found there. The word "Dry" was added later to warn seafarers that the islands contain no fresh water. 

But the best part of the trip was saved for after lunch. The tour company provided snorkel gear for those visitors who wanted to do more than just swim or explore. So, equipment in hand, Skinner took Mulder down to the pristine beach and gave him an up-close-and-personal snorkelling lesson.

"First thing you do is take your mask and spit in so it doesn't steam up."

"No shit!" Mulder's eyes danced. "I thought you were supposed to use sea water."

"Nah. That's for pussies. Not us real men."

Mulder snickered. "What else do I need to know, Marine?"

"Don't forget to hold your breath if you go under water."

"Duh."

"Then, when you resurface, blow into the snorkel to clear the water before you breathe in again."

"Gee, I'm so glad you told me, Walter. I never would've figured that out for myself."

"Okay, smart-ass. Put on your flippers and let's see what you've got."

What Mulder had was the time of his life. The staghorn coral was simply breathtaking, and he loved swimming with--not just near--the exotic French angel fish. Because of the mask, everything was crystal clear...including Skinner's beautiful ass leading the way through the underwater paradise.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Did you have a good time, babe?" Skinner asked as they headed back to Key West. 

"Oh, yeah. The best. Thanks, Walter."

"You're welcome. You know, I think you were really brave to go back to the ocean like that."

The last time Mulder had splashed around in the Atlantic--in the Bermuda Triangle, to be precise--he'd nearly drowned. 

"No big deal," Mulder said shyly. "I don't remember much of what happened."

Skinner felt a sudden need to touch the extraordinary man at his side. "Thank god," he said, rubbing Mulder's arm.

"I'd like to learn how to scuba dive some day, Walter. Do you think we could?"

"Sure. We could go to some secluded Caribbean island, get certified, spend the week diving."

"Among other things."

"Sex maniac."

"Flatterer."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Crystal City, VA  
Wednesday, April 19, 2000  
10:20 pm

Mulder turned off the bedside light and snuggled up to Skinner's back, hoping to fall asleep before the painkillers completely wore off.

But first he made a mental note to have a breakfast-table discussion about taking some time off. And soon. God knew they both needed to get away.

Skinner--still out like a light--turned, threw an arm over Mulder, and got a kiss on the chin for his unconscious efforts.

"Good night, Walter," Mulder whispered. "I love you."

As the night sought to claim him, his last thoughts were of Skinner, of how much shit the AD had been through since the day they'd met. Oh, Mulder knew he wasn't directly responsible for all the times Skinner'd been beat up, shot and otherwise abused. But was it just a coincidence that so many bad things had happened to him from the moment he began supervising the X-Files? 

Mulder tried to protect the people he loved, to keep the trouble that brewed up around him to himself, but it didn't always work. At least it had this time, and for that he was supremely grateful. The idea of Skinner or Scully being infested with tobacco beetles made him queasy, was more painful to him than his own ordeal with the little fuckers.

But, instead of having nightmares involving bugs or nanocytes or assassins, Mulder dreamed of being underwater with Skinner, swimming in the middle of a huge school of tropical fish. He panicked when he realized they weren't wearing any snorkel or scuba gear. But then Skinner smiled at him, started laughing without any problem, and Mulder relaxed. He was no longer afraid for Walter. Or himself.

He slept peacefully.

Fini  
August 14, 2000 

=====  
m. butterfly  
  
Fanfic - http://Skinner.Mulder.com/walfox


End file.
